Five Times John Got Drunk
by Alstroe
Summary: and at the worst possible times, too. He's supposed to be presentable for this blasted New Year's party. *Fluffy and humorous with huge Johnlock hints, because I can't seem to stay away from the "let's get characters drunk" trope.*
1. Experiment

A/N: Probably going to continue this as a series of connected one shots but updates will be extremely sporadic! :)

* * *

><p>All John had wanted was a nap.<p>

It was probably inevitable that something would have gone wrong with his little plan. He shared a flat with Sherlock, after all. But John had run errands all day, interspersed with "helpful" reminders and texts from Sherlock. Didn't he deserve a bit of a break?

* * *

><p>At around five that night, John stumbled back into the flat, arms laden with grocery bags and books.<p>

"Here," he said, tossing a particularly menacing looking tome at Sherlock. He caught it effortlessly, then shifted back into his default "bored" posture.

"Johnnnnnn," he whined. John took one look at Sherlock and walked up the stairs. "John?"

"I'm taking a nap. I'll be down for dinner later. Try not to destroy anything in the meantime, will you?"

* * *

><p>John had never been a heavy sleeper, but the military had made him an extremely light one. Never knew what that creaking noise was in a war zone, and assume the worst, hope for the best could have been his motto. But John was used to hearing Sherlock puttering around the flat all night long, so it took longer for him to wake up than it should have.<p>

What finally did it was a click.

John started awake and found Sherlock leaning over him, camera in hand.

"What the hell," John moaned, rubbing his head.

"Well, that was unexpected. Due to your eye motion, I guessed you were in deep REM sleep."

"What the hell are you doing in my room?"

"An experiment, of course." Sherlock looked offended. "I'm _between cases_, John."

John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "So you thought it would be a good idea to take pictures of me in my sleep…why?"

"I have been lecturing about history, art, and philosophy while you sleep to see if it will improve your IQ. The pictures are for through documentation."

John put a hand to his face and shook his head. Why? Why was it him who had decided to rent a flat with this lunatic?

"Sherlock, you can't just experiment on me without my knowledge!" (or permission, John thought, but one step at a time). "Not Good, Sherlock. Not Good."

Sherlock suddenly steepled his fingers and leaned forward, a curious glint in his eye. For one fleeting moment John thought he may have finally gotten through to him.

"Tell me, John, do you feel any smarter?"

John gaped at him for a moment.

Then,"That's it. I'll see you later."

* * *

><p>John walked into the popular pub a street away from the flat and fought his way past the crowd to get a seat at the counter. When he finally sat down, he lowered his head to the wooden counter for a second's rest. He still was tired, after all, and now he was just plain exasperated.<p>

"What's wrong? You must be pretty out of sorts to want to put your head on that." John looked up and saw a large, friendly man behind the counter beaming down at him.

"Hasn't been cleaned in years," he said, whispering conspiratorially. John reluctantly picked his head up and rubbed his neck.

"What'll you have? Bloke like you, seems like you could need a stiff drink."

"I'll take the hardest you have."

The man smiled wide. "Rum, then."

John relaxed a bit and smiled back. "Sounds lovely."

Three shots later, John was completely at ease.

"So, my flatmate, right? He's a strange one- has this skull. He likes to talk to it, you see."

"Like Hamlet?" The man at the bar reached to refill John's shotglass.

"Yeah. Gets a bit weird. He drives me a bit mad sometimes."

"I used to have a flatmate, right after I got out of university. He was just boring."

"Sherlock's not boring, at least. Cheers to that!" John raised his glass and drank more, feeling warm as the drink ran down his throat.

Soon, John lost track of the time (and of the drinks).

"Hey, have I told you I have a flatmate?"

The bartender smiled, amused. "You may have told me."

"Oh." John deflated a bit. "Well, he has this skull."

* * *

><p>It took Sherlock a while to realize John was gone. Right after John had awoken, Sherlock had retreated into his Mind Palace to memorize the results of the experiment, so he missed most of John's complaints, but even he didn't miss the wounded, confused look on John's face. Sherlock found it very hard to ignore that look on John's face, the one that told him more than any words could that Sherlock had done something Not Good.<p>

But still, it took time to catalogue precise REM eye movements in correlation to philosophical movements of the 1800s, so it was eight before Sherlock emerged from his mind.

"John?"

No answer.

Sherlock sighed. He'd just wait, then.

His cell phone buzzed.

Sherlock sighed louder.

"Johnnnnnnnnn."

He looked at his cell phone intently, willing it to move into his hand.

"Fine." Sherlock abruptly stood. He would find John and- he checked his phone- bring him along on this newest case.

Now, where to find him… oh, easy. Took his heavy coat and wallet, but not his phone- didn't want to be bothered, didn't go far enough away to feel unsafe without his phone, but brought money. Heavy coat- he probably walked. And he was annoyed at me, Sherlock thought uneasily.

Pub it is.

* * *

><p>Sherlock arrived in the pub with his collar turned up and a sour expression on his face. Accordingly, people parted in his wake until he reached the counter, where he found John excitedly telling the bartender about his skull. It took John a minute to realize Sherlock was there, but when he did his face broke out into a smile.<p>

"Sher-lock!" John crowed, pronouncing each syllable carefully so as to get them right. "Where did you come from?"

"God, John, what have you been drinking? You smell like cheap alcohol."

The bartender looked at John. "This your flatmate?"

"Yeah." John leaned closer. "He can be a bit of an arse, can't he?"

The bartender chuckled as Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.

"Lestrade just texted me- there's been a murder, and it looks like the work of a serial killer!" Sherlock rubbed his hands together. "We've got to go; exciting things are happening!"

Sherlock could see John thinking, carefully and slowly. He could also see the horrified expression that came onto John's face as he thought about going on the case. Finally, John took a deep breath and said the one thing inebriated people don't say.

"Sherlock, I'm drunk."

"Do you really want to skip out on this case so badly? Nonsense, I need an assistant. Come along."

Sherlock laid some money on the counter and turned on his heel. The man behind the counter eyed the bills and coins.

"Well, _I_ like your friend."

John stood shakily and stumbled after Sherlock, the tall man's coat already disappearing into the crowd.

"Come again!"

Out on the street, Sherlock waited impatiently for John to catch up. When John finally did, breathing heavily and bent half over, Sherlock's gaze softened.

"You know, in this pitiful state you only would slow me down. I'll be fine for one night without an assistant. "Sherlock glanced over John once more. "I have to make a stop at Baker Street anyway; I forgot something. You best come along."

Sherlock stiffly slipped an arm around John's shoulders. John leaned heavily into him, and they hobbled back to Baker Street.

* * *

><p>The next morning John awoke to find his boots were off and his coat was thrown haphazardly onto a nearby chair, but that the rest off his clothes were still in place. He had been awkwardly but gently tucked into bed. For a moment, John didn't want to move out from the covers pulled up to his chin, but he spotted a note on the side table and John was nothing if not a curious person. As soon as he truly started to move John was hit by a blinding headache. Oh. So that was what he had done last night. He managed to make it to the note, and finding a glass of water and two aspirin nearby, he downed them in one greedy gulp. Then John unraveled the note and squinted to focus on the scrawl:<p>

_John-_

_ Would it be too much to ask for you to not drink yourself into idiocy when a case might arise? I apologize for not informing you of my experiment, but I see no reason why you would turn to the wretched drink that is alcohol- and rum, John, really? In any case, I will be gone until the late afternoon- I should have the case resolved by then- and then we can go out for dinner. How does Chinese sound?_

_ Enjoy your hangover._

_ Yours,_

_ SH_


	2. Mummy

Oh goodness. I profusely apologize- when I said sporadic updates, I didn't mean three months. This chapter snowballed into something much more than my original idea so I hope you like it.

Dedicated to Beth, who kept reminding me I still have a work-in-progress.

* * *

><p>New Year's only came once in a while, right? And they weren't expecting a case. So really, John could drink. Let go a little. Since the last time- <em>you were drinking rum, John. Rum-<em> John hadn't really been allowed to indulge.

But Sherlock was not his mother, and he could do what he wanted!

…Well, at least after he met _Sherlock's _mother, somewhat presentable. After that, he could find the family drunk (there always was one) and have a grand old time.

John looked himself over in the mirror one last time and smiled, straightening his bowtie. Tonight, he thought, would be fun.

"John, we have to go!" Sherlock called.

John sighed, taking one last look in the mirror, and ran out to the main room where Sherlock waited.

"Ready!"

Sherlock gave him a once over, then stepped closer.

"Your bowtie is crooked," he muttered, and fixed it. Then, he cleared his throat and stepped back. "We'd better go."

* * *

><p>Outside the flat waited a black limo.<p>

"You're actually going to ride in one of Mycroft's limos?" John asked, laughter in his voice.

"Not Mycroft's," Sherlock said, looking over John's head. "My mother's."

"Oh," John said, deflated. Sherlock gracefully settled himself on the seat and John jumped in after.

"So… does your family have a party like this every year?"

"Since 1895."

"Ahh." John leaned back in his seat, a little nervous. Would he fit in with these people? And there was an even greater sinking sensation in his stomach. Was there even a family drunk?

Sherlock scoffed. "There is nothing to be nervous about."

"I'm not nervous," John said, puffing himself up.

"Yes you are. That defeated posture? That little quirk of your lip when you're displeased? Honestly, John, you will be fine."

"If you say so," he grumbled, and turned to look out of the window the rest of the drive.

About an hour later the limo pulled up outside a medium-sized home surrounded by woods.

This isn't so bad, John thought. His family isn't _that _rich; I'll still fit in!

But Sherlock didn't move.

The limo driver rolled down his window and called out.

"Dave, can you open up the gate?"

A teenager came running out. "Sure!"

Gate? John's stomach dropped.

The limo proceeded to turn right, and around the corner, hidden by the trees, was the largest home John had ever seen.

Sherlock seemed to sink into his chair, this time.

John turned to him, incredulous.

"This? This is your house?" John paused a second. "Sherlock, you live here and we're scraping up money for groceries every week?"

Sherlock mumbled something about family differences and John threw up his hands.

"You're lucky you're brilliant," John said, punching him affectionately.

At this, Sherlock smiled, a quick pleased smile, and then studiously ignored John.

John settled back into his seat again. He'd need to save his strength for tonight.

* * *

><p>When the limo pulled up to the mansion, John immediately tried to open the door, slamming it into the driver. Sherlock rolled his eyes and climbed out, leaving John apologizing profusely behind him. Truth be told, he was…worried. It was bad enough he had to be in the same room as Mycroft and Mummy, and it was even worse that John would be party to his embarrassment. If only he had gotten to the mail before John had…<p>

"Hey, Sherlock! Wait up!"

Sherlock stopped but didn't turn around.

"Oh yes, because it would be absolutely horrible if you missed _this_," he muttered.

"What?" John asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he said. "Let's get inside."

Perhaps they would be able to sneak inside unnoticed, Sherlock thought.

He pushed open the door…

…only to see Mycroft waiting to greet guests in the opulent foyer.

Sherlock briefly pondered turning around and running in the opposite direction, all the way to the police station, where they might have an interesting case or two… Lestrade must have _something_ by now-

But John tugged on his sleeve and gestured that Sherlock should 'behave' and 'smile.' Fine, but he wouldn't be happy about it.

He reluctantly walked through the door.

"Mycroft."

"How nice to see you, Sherlock. Normally you wouldn't show your face at one of these parties for the entire world." Mycroft smirked, then faced John.

"Doctor Watson."

John gave him a friendly nod.

"If you are done," Sherlock said.

"Oh, yes, yes, wouldn't want to keep you from the party," Mycroft said, his smirk still firmly in place.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Come along, John," he said, brushing past Mycroft.

The pair pushed through more grandiose doors and came upon a gorgeous ballroom decorated in white and gold. Sherlock glanced around and kept walking, but he could feel John stop behind him.

"What?"

"This…this is your house."

"Yes. There's a reason I don't want to live here."

John shook his head and started to laugh. He wiped a tear out of his eye.

"Sherlock, you are the strangest man I have ever met."

"I hope that's a positive statement," Sherlock said, dry.

"Of course it is," John said, smirking. "But wait, aren't I supposed to get a glimpse of your infamous family? I cannot wait to see the people that raised both you _and_ Mycroft."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Well, my father's dead, and has been for years."

John started stammering out an apology, but Sherlock waved him off. "I never cared for him anyway."

John was quiet after that. Then, he ventured to ask a question. "And your mother?"

"Oh. Mummy," Sherlock said, lip curling. "She always favored Mycroft. Can't imagine why," he said, glaring at a giggling John. "You'll meet her eventually."

John straightened up. "Do you know where the restroom is?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Second door on the left, down the hall, then turn right."

"Thanks- see you in a while!" John ran off, and Sherlock was alone. He grabbed a cocktail from a passing waiter and twirled in his hand, trying to look entertained without actually having to talk to anyone. But as soon as he had found his favorite corner and had settled in as well as he was going to be able to, he saw a storm of red velvet come flying towards him. Sherlock looked around, but there was no escape route.

"Oh, and here she comes, of course," he said with a sigh.

"Sherrrlock, dear. Come give your mummy a kiss."

Sherlock reluctantly straightened from his artful slouch against the wall and kissed her cheek.

"Much better." She preened. "So how have you been, dear? And where is this charming young friend of yours?" she said, looking around.

"Mother, his name is Doctor Watson, and stop calling him my 'friend'- I'm not in nursery school anymore."

"Sure you aren't, dear. Well, if he reappears, come say hello- I'd absolutely _love_ to meet him." She winked and patted Sherlock on the head, then hurried up to someone else. Sherlock was left muttering in his corner.

* * *

><p>John found the bathroom quite easily, but finding Sherlock was another matter entirely. The man could disappear into crowds ridiculously easily for someone as tall and distinctive as he. John pondered his next course of action for a moment. Was he obligated to walk around the party until he found Sherlock? He probably was, but the drinks looked so appealing…even if they were fancy wine, not beer, as per usual. And he could just imagine- John would look around for an hour or two and then Sherlock would pop up behind him, saying something like "I was here all along, John. Do be more observant," and <em>then<em> Sherlock would whine and beg to leave and John wouldn't even touch a glass of wine before he gave in.

So.

Wine it was.

Well, it was a few glasses before John was feeling a buzz, but there was plenty of wine. So, he got to work very quickly on getting extremely drunk. To hell with being presentable- if John didn't indulge now, he wouldn't be able to the entire night! And he'd been looking forward to this for weeks!

A woman decked in red sidled up to him and offered him another glass of wine. John smiled and took the glass.

"Aren't I supposed to be the chivalrous one, getting the lady a drink?"

"Oh, there'll be plenty of time for that later," she said, winking.

John looked at her. She was a bit older than he normally went for, but there was no doubt she was beautiful, if overdressed. She had high cheekbones and curly black hair- and though it was streaked with gray, somehow it accentuated her face.

"I'm sure there will," John said.

* * *

><p>It was about an hour later that Sherlock found John and a woman together, giggling and generally falling all over each other. At some point, John had discovered the (intended for decoration) New Year's crackers and all of the other little baubles spread across the table and was now generally making an ass of himself. Sherlock sighed and walked up to the table.<p>

"Mummy, what have you done to John?"

"Oh, hello, dear! I did get to meet your lovely friend, after all!" She was drunk, but she was practiced and loose, in comparison to John, who was heartily drunk, and while calm, had little to no idea what was happening.

She shot another look at John. "And he is lovely," she said, trying and failing to look seductive.

"Mummy! You can't just…_hit on_ Doctor Watson," he said, turning a peculiar shade of red.

"Well, dear, he _is _a bachelor. Bach-e-lor John Wat-son, that's what the papers say." She giggled, then shot another coquettish look at John. Unfortunately, at the moment, Bachelor John Watson was preoccupied with trying to operate the New Year's crackers.

Sherlock gave an aggravated sigh and took the toy out of John's hands. John looked at him, wounded, but clapped when the cracker popped, revealing a paper crown.

Sherlock looked down his nose at the crown. "I absolutely will not help you put that blasted thing on your head."

John managed to balance it on his head, then wrinkled his nose and looked up at Sherlock. "I know that. You never want to touch me, even when I want you to!"

Sherlock went another unnatural shade of red. His mother laughed.

"Maybe he's not all that bachelor-like after all," she said, lazy.

Sherlock checked his watch. "Oh, would you look at the time! John and I have to go, so nice to see you, yes I'll come back next year-probably on my own," he muttered.

'Mummy' just laughed. Then she sat up straighter and her gaze sharpened. "He is a good man, Sherlock. Take care of him." She winked and slouched back into the perfect imitation of the drunk rich woman. Sherlock only shook his head. Of course only his mother would be able to fool him.

He slung an arm around John. "Would you take that atrocity off of your head?"

"No," John said happily.

Sherlock gave up and started shepherding John outside, getting quite a few interested looks in the process. Sherlock glared back.

They finally made it to a limo and Sherlock told the driver their address. John was fine-he could let go of John now-but… Sherlock allowed himself this one indulgence. It isn't as if John hadn't indulged tonight. And when John slumped against him and babbled happy nonsense, Sherlock paid very serious attention. It was worth it for John's smile and his warm weight. Finally, John fell asleep, and Sherlock smiled.

Perhaps his family New Year's party wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

><p>"I still can't believe your family owns that house!"<p>

"Always has."

The next morning at breakfast, John was still extremely pleased with his night.

"And the wine was fantastic! I even hit it off with this woman- a bit older, but she was beautiful." He studied Sherlock. "She actually looked a bit like you."

Sherlock savored the information he was about to divulge for just a second. Then, "Do you know who that woman was?"

"I never got her name, no. Do you? I'd love to see her again," John said.

"And here I was, concerned you wouldn't like my mother."

"What does she-" Understanding dawned on John's face. "Wait. Wait. Sherlock, that was your mother? Your _mother_?" John started choking on his toast, and Sherlock patted him on the shoulder, smirking.

"It's okay, John. She liked you too."


End file.
